CrowFeri Compilation
by psychemenace
Summary: CrowFeri Shorts
1. Turning

What does it take for a man to crumble and fall? Was it the heaving lungs, the sighs or a parched throat that evidenced weakness and failure? Or was it a stinging ache that made a body weigh a hundred times more than an anchor would?

For Crowley Eusford, it was none. His downfall was the feel of this tongue on his neck, the feel of those slender hands pulling on his hair making his neck crane exposing the bulge of his adam's apple and the prettiness of the column of his throat. It was never the sighs, nor his heaving lungs but the sound of his mouth against his neck, the sloppy wet sounds he makes as he sucks all the life in him.

He bites more aggressively, his fangs penetrate him deeper like he was just taking a mouthful of pie. He touches his chest, fondles it a bit, clearly amused of how meaty it was, amused of the fact of subjugating such a macho man completely in contrast with his build. He withdraws and Crowley tries desperately hard to cling to the sliver of consciousness he has left. He feels the tresses of his silver hair on his skin , it felt cold, smooth, it smelled of lavender. He wanted to touch it.

"You.." He managed to say.

"I told you you can call me Ferid." The vampire chuckled. He took off his gloves, exposing pale hands with nails painted with the color of purple. He folded his sleeves and plunged his fangs on his wrist. Crowley could see his throat move like he was drinking his own blood. Crowley wanted to flee, but he was unable to. He was too weak, so he closed his eyes and waited for the vampire to finish him. To his surprise, the vampire touched his bottom lip using his thumb and pulled it down. Crowley was confused that he took a deep breath and trembled slightly.

A brush of the hand, and the feel of his smooth puckered mouth against his was his downfall. The blood that he drank, Ferid's blood didn't taste as sweet as the vampire's tongue.


	2. Thirst

So this was the agony of being a newly turned vampire. The burning in your chest, the pain, the gnawing at your parched and sandy throat as if you are left sprawled in the burning ground of the sahara under the scorching heat of the middle eastern sun. Your limbs are tired and you are splayed on your back waiting for the vultures to come and kill you. It was as if you are being burned alive.

You feel that scorching feeling on your face, on your limbs, chest and even in your mouth. You smell that crisp, sun bathed scent that exudes from your skin, the saline, the fishlike fetid odour of sweat sluicing down your face in rivulets. Your body glistens from the sheen of sweat covering you body. You hallucinate, see images that slowly smother you. You mistake the scintillation from the sun as your salvation but it only hurts your eyes and leave you blind.

You breathe, but the thirst overwhelms your senses. You swallow but the push that you exert on your throat only causes you too much pain. Your tongue is dry, as dry as the land that have been ravished by the El Nino. Only blood could bring you rain—bring you life, and sanity again.

Crowley heaved and huffed. His breathing was shallow and he was in too much pain. His limbs were weak and his throat and chest burned as if it a molten iron had just been pressed into his throat and scraped down his chest. He groaned for all the life in him, a groan that had a ring of helplessness, like a wail of a wolf that had just been shot. Short exhalations and frantically beating heart, the sound of his clothes rustling and the clutter of his shoes on the ground drowned him, enclosed him to this world he was forcibly dragged into. He should've died. He should have. Death was a better thing than this agony.

He gurgles, his irises disappeared along with his sanity. His saliva seethes like a wild animal at the corner of his mouth. He grabbed his clothes and tore it. The sound of the fabric being turn asunder drowned the sound of the cluttering of heels that came towards him. But he stopped. Flaring his nose, he caught a whiff of the mortal scent of the human. Delicious, it smelt so very delicious that he couldn't help licking his lips. He snarled exposing his sharp fangs. He roused himself and fumbled on his hands and knees. He was too parched that he could no longer think.

The girl took a step back. With Crowley's hand outstretched, he crawled towards the girl desperately. But when his vision no longer blurred, he saw her innocent face and he felt guilty. He felt a pang of regret in his chest and he almost cursed God for allowing this to happen to him. Why had he forsaken him? Why did he left him like this? Rotting like a wild animal, turning slowly into a monster.

He clawed at his throat desperately, leaving scratches, red like a rose, budding with coagulated blood. He heard footsteps, light in their gait. The clutter of heels playful, bouncy. He knew who it was and then he heard him speak those honey covered words of his, with his voice so saccharine and sweet.

"Ah~! Crowley-kun. You've been deprived for days already. Won't you give in and drink blood from Ella over here? You'll feel better."

Crowley's body shook and his eyes grew wild, his pupils dilated pooling as red as ever, as red as a spider lily. Ferid laughed, a cold etude to Crowley's ears that reverberated into the walls and into his frantically beating heart. This was his master now, this accursed creature. He swallowed hard and tried rousing himself from being sprawled on the floor. He wanted to lunge at the girl and drink her to the last drop. He wanted to tear her apart and feed on her, but rather than crawling or lunging at the girl he only grunted and made muffled noises.

"Go on." The silver vampire goaded.  
"Drink. Or do you want me to cut her for you first?"

Crowley couldn't speak, he couldn't think. He's handsome face streaked with sweat looked twisted. His desire for blood was drowning his guilt and reason. His mind was in tatters. He wanted to drink. He wanted to drink so much. But he couldn't so he just grabbed his neck and fell on his back. He didn't want to kill an innocent human being and play on the palm of his perverted companion who was really amused by this.

Crowley's body convulsed and he was grunting and heaving and truly in pain.

"You're as stubborn as ever Crowley-kun."

Ferid motioned the girl to leave. The girl bowed and went out of the room. Her footsteps faded but Crowley could still hear her. He could hear her beating heart, he could smell her milky rosemary scent and that only made his thirst worse.

Ferid turned to Crowley with his right hand on his hip.

"Come here, undress me."

"Ughh…Aaah."

"I'm offering you my blood. Come on before I change my mind."

Ferid's tone was quite dismissive, it was as if he was saying he wanted to get this done and over with. There was nothing in his voice that was sympathetic, it was rather cold and distant.

Crowley was hesitant at first, he was troubled and his instincts were rattled, but it was the only thing that could satiate the lust he feels deep within him. He crawled to him in an adrenaline induced effort. He grabbed Ferid and started undoing the other's ribbons frantically without the honor and grace of the soldier he once was.

"I know you're hungry, but please don't tear off my precious clothes."

Crowley undressed him desperately with his lungs out of oxygen his hands unravelling and picking the fabric of Ferid's clothes. When he finished undoing everything without any second thoughts or permission he tore Ferid's garb. The tearing noises echoed in the vicinity as well as his moans and grunts. He forcefully pushed Ferid's face upward so that he could expose his neck better. Then, he sunk his fangs on the vampire's translucent skin where tiny strings of red and green strands of vein were tangled and bare.

He pressed the silver vampire against him and sucked him hard with the vehemence of a whirlpool. It was if he was going to tear off the thin skin on Ferid's neck. He moaned when finally he felt the warm blood trickle into his mouth, his voice raspy, even sonorous to a certain extent because of the lust and the hunger. It felt warm on his tongue, it tasted so sweet, so delectable. It was something new to his palate, it was sweeter than wine, thicker than the liquor.

He pressed Ferid more forcefully against him, it was almost as if he was trying to crush him. He felt him, his bones, the slenderness of his body but he didn't think of any of this, because he was so focused on his hunger. When he was able to compose himself, his nose caught a whiff of the vampire's scent. It tickled and gave his nose a prickling feeling. It came to him in a crescendo and when he finally caught the extent of his sweet smell it was as if horns blasted directly into his ears.

Ferid smelled of iron. If haemoglobin had any scent this would probably be it. And then he caught that rising mix of the aroma of lavender and talcum powder. Then came the candy after taste so fleeting it seduced his senses. It was so elusively sweet it made him feel a comforting feeling for a moment, it was euphoria in a scent. He heaved him in to give himself the same sensation but this time, he felt like he wanted to eat him. He wanted to taste the nectar of this wild lavender in his arms. He licked Ferid's neck and bit him once again. He pushed him down and rubbed his nose on Ferid's neck and then upwards to his ears with heaving lungs that rang in his companion's ears. He burried his face on Ferid's silver locks and breathed him in. He reeked of blood. Of the coppery scent mixed with lavender and talcum.  
He couldn't help thinking his perverted companion was delicious. With intensity comparable to swelling libido, he plunged his fangs on the other's flesh again and ate him raw.


	3. you are crowley and you are in love

It didn't take long enough for the rush to kick in as the scent of the incense overwhelm your senses, making your tongue loose. You wanted someone to listen to you for a long time, but you were afraid of being judged. You got tired of all the expectations and all the praises. It was all a lie, you were all living a lie and you were sick of it.

He comes, elusive, suspicious, otherworldly. Comes into your world, taking you in by force. You are afraid. You are captured by his beauty, caged even. But you are stubborn. You try to fight it, fight the desire to be with him, but didn't you want to? Didn't you wish to?

He comes and goes, you know it. But for you he stays and you are suspicious. He looked like someone who preys on other people, but still you didn't entirely find him revolting. You mock his tastes. He says he just wanted to please you. You are taken aback but didn't you feel butterflies in your stomach when he said that? Looking so innocent, looking so interested you nearly melted at his feet. But you were trying not to.

Playful, petulant, mind unparalleled. He never ceased to amaze you. And when he kissed you for the first time out of curiosity, toes en pointe because you were centimetres taller than him, for the first time you felt shivers ran down your spine.

You felt quakes on your calloused hands, you felt your flesh shake, you felt every nerve of your body go awry, as if you were hit by lightning. You began to think about the possible charge of that kiss and how much you were nearly electrocuted to death. But he withdraws and you feel empty and bleak. His mouth lingered on your mouth and you wanted to lock your lips again. And again and again.

He prances away from you, swaying his hips, strutting, his back looking so far away from you. And you realise, you are Crowley and you are in love.


	4. don't leave me

Seventy thousand two hundred and fifty mornings, seventy thousand two hundred and forty-nine nights have passed since he left and Crowley could do nothing but wait for his return like a loyal hound. He counts the days, the nights, patiently observing the passing of seasons, the change in the weather, the slow aging of everything that had life in his surroundings, the rotting, the crumbling of the flesh.

Waiting for him has caused disarray, and it's not like he wasn't in a mess already. And yet, no matter how much he tries so hard to focus on the tiny details to distract himself from his absence, he always finds himself in the point where everything just reminds him of him. The way he smelled, the way his footsteps struck the earth, even the rhythm of his breathing just somehow grips him and he realises that if this obsession is the price of the immortality granted to him, then he should have left him to die.

There is no luxury in this eternity if it meant without Ferid Bathory. There was no point in it if his benefactor only grants him this exhausting longing, this insurmountable ache. The void he left was a black hole sucking all the light in him, the pain was unfathomable as the deepest of oceans.

Days were slow. Life without him was turtle slow in its ebb and flow, in its its recession and its the surge. The wait was killing him. If he wanted him to suffer like this for eternity, then he should have killed him when he had the chance. He wanted a much more gentler passing, not this, not this terrible anticipation of whether or not he's going to come back to him.

On the seventy thousandth two hundred and fifty-fifth day, when he was tallying the days as per usual like a prisoner, he heard him enter. He heard him, even when he was just before the door, he felt him even when he was two thousand meters away.

"Crowley-Kun~ I'm back! Did you miss me?"

Missing was an understatement. Crowley did not miss him, he longed for him. And when Ferid finally sauntered towards him, his footsteps crisp, calculated, the cluttering of his heels blasting in Crowley's ears as he paused for awhile and pranced all over the room as excitedly told him about the jewellery he collected, how many pounds of gold and silver he gained and the wonderful places he went to, the red head shivered and was trying to hold back the urge to pin him down. Ferid finally stopped close enough to hold him.

"Crowley-kun did you miss me?" Ferid repeated, with a more exaggerated lilt to his voice.

Crowley tasted his words on his tongue like it was being passed to him with a kiss. It didn't have any sexual flavour, it didn't have with it the same ache and longing he felt in his chest. There was nothing but the tang of Ferid's usual tiresome tricks. And because of that, he was frustrated. He turned around and swallowed a lump on his throat.

Ferid tipped his head upward to look at his fledgling's face. He smiled and blushed. There was an innocent light in Ferid's eyes when he looked at Crowley just standing there trying to keep himself composed.

"Oh, darling…" Ferid pulled Crowley against him. Twining his arms around Crowley's neck.

"I missed you! I really really do."

Crowley pulled Ferid against him and lifted him up. He kissed his cheeks, he kissed his neck, his forehead, his bottom lip quite aggressively that Ferid was asking him to stop because he was ticklish.

"Crowleeeeyy~" Ferid whined.

Crowley bit his bottom lip and tightened his arms around Ferid, afraid that if he uses an ounce of force weaker, he's going to leave him again. Ferid understands and he submits to Crowley as he always did. He allows Crowley to cradle him in his arms and even cuddles against him.

"Ferid.." Crowley whispers, his voice serious.

What he was about to say was difficult, but Crowley poured them all out, the words that he had been practicing to tell him over and over again as he await his return.

"Don't leave me. Don't leave me like that ever again."


	5. touch is the strongest sense

Horn and Chess pressed against each other. They were eavesdropping on the 7th Progenitor Ferid Bathory and the 13th progenitor Crowley Eusford's conversation through the tiny slit of the door. Ferid just came to their estate unannounced. Crowley had the habit of dismissing them when receiving the 7th progenitor that's why Ferid's visits always made them unhappy. Apart from the irritation that they felt for the silver haired vampire, they were curious about the true state of affairs between the two so they wanted to see for themselves why their precious and stupendous Crowley-sama was willing to move mountains for Ferid.

Ferid eyed the door with his gaze and smiled to himself. He found it cute that the girls were observing them like that. Crowley knew too but he didn't really care.

Ferid was standing with his arms Akimbo just a meter away from Crowley who was sitting relaxed on the couch with his arms splayed on the length. The two were conversing nonchalantly but the air between them was kind of awkward.

"You're staying the night here?"

"I can't?"

"You can of course. But this is so unlike you, Ferid-kun."

"Oh is it?"

A smile tugged at Ferid's mouth. He began unbuttoning the buttons at the hem of his long sleeves.

"What is so off about me spending the night with you? Aren't we buddies?"

"You never spend the night with me."

Ferid unbuckled his belt and took off his overcoat.

"What are you doing?"

"I'm taking off my clothes. It's pretty stuffy in here."

"You are acting odd. What happened?"

"Nothing. I just want to spend time with you and relax." Ferid said as he slipped away from his boots.

Ferid neatly folded the clothes that he took off and put them on the table. He also put away his boots right next to Crowley's oaken wardrobe. Excited for the night, he sauntered towards Crowley's bookshelves and took out a book. He then went to where Crowley sat. Like a cat, he splayed himself across the latter's lap. He folded his legs up and opened the book and skimmed through it. This put Crowley off. The girls outside were shocked at this gesture. He was being overly intimate with Crowley–a thing that doesn't happen quite often.

Ferid always puts some distance between himself and Crowley. But for some reason or another, he, on his own volition has allowed himself to be closer to him more than usual. Crowley's brows rise as Ferid moves against him. The rustling of his clothes, the way he edged and pressed against him felt overly familiar. Ferid was playing with him and his girls.

"What's this Ferid-kun?"

"What?"

"You…"

Ferid was closer to him now, he was just a gesture away. Being too close like this makes Crowley unable to resist touching him. He massaged Ferid's nape with his curled index finger.

"What are you up to?"

He trails his fingers from the nape of Ferid's neck down to the small of his back. He repeated this. Ferid whimpered and slumped on his muscular legs languidly as he leafed through the pages of the book. Crowley felt the other's pointy chin nuzzling his legs. He felt his breathing, he felt his body burn his flesh.

"That feels so good." Ferid purrs unable to withstand Crowley's petting. He curves his hand on Crowley's knee and grasps it, flushing at the sensation of what the other vampire was doing to him.

Crowley ran the knuckles of his hands to Ferid's covered skin, caressing him. He slid it across Ferid's back then back again to the nape of his neck. He rubbed his curled index finger on Ferid's nape and run his fingers one after the other in quick succession on the smooth flesh.

He feels Ferid's nails underneath the gloves. He feels him press his cheek to his thighs. The book drops and Ferid resigns himself to his touch.

There was a layer that separated Crowley from him but this didn't matter. He was close to him now, a touch away, a kiss away, unlike those other times when he was so far away from him. Presently, he resigns himself to him for whatever reason and that was enough.


	6. Cry baby

_A/N: I wrote this one for amikko. I asked for a song in association with OTP._

* * *

 _I'll fall in love you, baby_

 _And that's just not what I wanna do_  
 _I hope you won't ever lie to me_  
 _And if you do, I know I won't be your cry baby._

 _I know I'll fall in love with you, baby_

 _And that's just what I'll wanna do_.

* * *

A flick of the wrist, a smile, a squint, these are but the things that made Crowley a bit curious and a bit put off by Ferid Bathory. Tangles of red, green and blue threads on the plane of his cheek at the sides of the twin laughter lines of his mouth made his ivory skin look like it could be easily torn. The mantle of flesh looked so thin, so smooth and transparent like gossamer fabric, that it made Crowley want to run his fingers across the canvas of Ferid's tight jowl and break him, oh just break him. But Crowley, was incapable of destruction; he was incapable of destroying beauty and mystery. This was what he originally thought. His human self, despite killing for the sake of his God, was incapable of destruction in its truest sense. Now however, after consuming flesh and blood, he wasn't sure anymore.

Ferid Bathory for certain, wasn't someone he could mess with; the vampire, rather, was someone he had to serve, like a knight in shining armor. Their relationship was merely Ferid imposing himself on him, always. And like those other times when he was dragged into the Vampire's outrageous ideas, he was now forced to paint Ferid. He was tasked to be the one to style him in whatever, however he wished. Ferid gave him a certain freedom to do what he wanted to him. It was insufferable, but it made Crowley's dead mortal curiosity revive its burnt out flame because of the other's obvious prodding.

Ferid wore a thin, flesh-toned leggings and leotards. The leotard was a tank top, with huge circles around the armpits so that it exposed the first lines of his ribs and the swell of his chest. The thin fabric wrapped his skin up nicely. It fit to perfection his slender, boyish frame as if it could pass as his second skin. The wrapping emphasized the lines and contours of his body. Crowley never saw Ferid in anything other than his vampire garb, so finally seeing Ferid exposing bits of his skin—the line of his shoulders, the dents of his shoulder blades, his bobbing smooth and pale throat, and his skinny arm s—was a sight to see. It made Crowley a bit uncomfortable because the images of humans having the same petite figure as his brother made him curious about how they would feel and taste. Crowley couldn't help but run his tongue across his upper lip as images of torn limbs and blood, blood, blood, ran like a movie sequence on his mind.

"What are you thinking Crowley-kun?" Ferid teased.

Crowley sighed, "If you wanted to paint, you didn't have to drag me into the same."

"Ah~ but I thought it would be fun if I saw you concentrate and be serious Crowley-kun!" Ferid clapped his hands together, making locks of silver hair tumble down his upturned head as he smiled that bright sunny smile of his. He gave Crowley a whiplash of the eyes as he turned his joyful gaze to him.

"I thought it would help the both of us kill time." Fried added while he twisted his wrist and unfurled his playful fingers; this was his usual flamboyant gesture to make his sweet-talking believable. With obvious delight, all loving eyes and excited feet, he pranced towards Crowley who held his palette lazily as if he wanted to throw the thing away and walk out.

Crowley sighed and furrowed his brows. He flitted his gloomy eyes to the side to avoid Ferid's gaze and seemingly too forceful way of making him obey his every whim by just the way he bridged the gap between the two of them.

Ferid stopped right in front of him and stood on tiptoes as he rested his palms on the side of Crowley's long face, cupping them gently. He turned Crowley's head to him, and brushed his right thumb across the side of the other's face.

"Won't you paint me?"

Pleading eyes, gentle irritatingly sweet voice. It was hard not to obey whenever Ferid acted like this. It was not because Crowley was subservient to him, it was because, he just couldn't say No to him.

Crowley put down his palette on the table with a soft clatter of the thin wood against hard surface escaping from the lips of stillness. He raised his arms hesitantly and cupped Ferid's face. He had never felt cupping the other's face until now. As he gazed intently into the other's cheery carmine eyes, he saw himself reflected on them. When his eyes wandered, he saw the tangle of red, blue, green thin strips splayed near the other's caruncles; they spread across his pale cheek and his high forehead as well.

"Just your face."

Ferid shook his head, turned away from Crowley and withdrew from him. He walked towards the red heavy wool curtains that would supposedly be his background. Only his bony, sharp shouldered back was to Crowley. The sway of his hips made Crowley's eyes travel down the swell of his ass. Crowley's curiosity as he gazed into the mounds of flesh made him remember the first time he saw Ferid. It made him remember how he was ready to be taken by him. He knew he was to fall into the other's orbit but that was something that he didn't want to do. He remembered how he trusted and relied on him, hoping that he won't ever lie to him, all because of Ferid's logic and intellectual prowess. He was prepared for his lies though, but still got deceived by believing in him too much. The conflicted feelings at that time was reminiscent in the way he saw Ferid strut away from him; it reminded him of how at that time, he was forced to accept that falling into Ferid's orbit was what he really wanted to do. Like always, he took the palette, grabbed his paintbrushes that were lying on the table and followed Ferid like the loyal hound he was.


End file.
